The enormous shadow loomed closer, a moment that every person aboard the White Oak knew would be etched in their minds forever.
It was an ancient and dignified three-masted warship that emerged from the fog. In an age where steamships were commonplace, this ship looked as if it had sailed straight out of an oil painting from a century ago. Its mast rose high and its hull was steep, black and burning with a ghostly green flame. Its massive sails fluttered in the void, imbued with the screaming phantoms and raging flames, a scene so terrifying that it would only appear in the most dreadful tales of sea disasters, even on the boundless ocean.
"We're going to collide!!!"
The crew shouted in panic. Even these rough and fearless people who made a living on the sea were disoriented in the face of such a monstrous object. They ran, looking for shelter on the deck, clung to anything they could grasp, and some even knelt down in the turbulence and prayed with unprecedented devotion to the storm goddess Gomona or the lord of death Bartok. In this vast ocean, the blessings of the gods had already waned, but the powers of these two true gods could still look upon all people equally.
Not all the crew lost their cool, however. The first mate on board immediately turned to his most trusted captain. He knew that sailing on the boundless ocean was full of dangers, and an experienced captain was always the key to deciding the fate of the entire crew. Lawrence had been at sea for more than thirty years, and though he was no longer as strong as he was when he was young, his experience surviving on the open sea might still be able to save them all.
The ship that emerged from the fog was obviously not a normal vessel sailing in the real world, but something that came out of the spirit world or "deeper." If it was some kind of extraordinary phenomenon, then perhaps it could be confronted with some kind of extraordinary power. Experienced old captains sailing on the boundless ocean usually had some experience in dealing with extraordinary phenomena.
However, the first mate only saw fear and shock on the captain's face. The old captain stood motionless, gripping the helm as if he had not noticed that the entire ship was now completely shrouded in shadow. He stared fixedly at the looming silhouette ahead, his face muscles so tense that he looked like a stone carving. He finally squeezed out a few words from between his teeth, words that were colder than the icy wind on the sea, "It's the Lost Home..."
"Ship... the captain?!" The first mate was startled by the name that drifted into his ears. Like every person making a living on the vast sea, he had heard this name from many older, more experienced, and more superstitious sailors. "What did you say?! That..."
"The Lost Home!"
But Captain Lawrence seemed not to have heard the first mate's voice. He just gripped the helm of the White Oak with all his might, as if he was roaring at something, and almost at the same time, the towering hull of the Lost Home finally touched the bow of the White Oak.
Almost all the sailors screamed.
However, the expected earthquake-like impact did not occur. The huge ship, burning with green flames, was like a grand illusion that swept through the White Oak's deck, thick hull, gloomy cabins, dimly lit corridors, burning keel and pillars... The sailors stared in horror as they watched themselves collide into the phantom of the ghost ship, and the green flames burning on the ghost ship swept past them like a wall of fire.
Captain Lawrence also watched the flame rushing towards him, but before that, he saw the flame pass through the first mate in front of him--the first mate's body suddenly turned into a phantom in the illusory flames, and the skeleton in the phantom burned like firewood. He also saw the priest next to the prayer altar in front of him, and the flames on the priest's body flickered, as if the gods behind him were still using their meager blessings to protect him from being devoured by the Lost Home.
Then the flame burned on Lawrence's body as well. He saw his own body undergo the same change, and a strong feeling of fatigue, obedience, and fear filled his body. The ocean talisman he had hidden on his body began to work, and a feeling of burning heat and coolness alternated to barely maintain his sanity. In his remaining sanity, he "passed through" the cabins and corridors of the Lost Home.
The gloomy and oppressive cabin came and went, and the old wooden pillars burning with green fire were entwined with rotting ropes and sea sponges. He saw a huge warehouse where various bizarre things that should have been buried deep in the sea were lying quietly. He also saw a luxurious cabin, where a wooden goat head was placed in the center of the table.
The goat head turned around and looked at Lawrence's eyes with indifference.
Finally, Lawrence exerted all his strength to lift his head, and he saw the figure holding the helm--a tall figure dressed in black sailor uniform, as if a terrifying master in a nightmare, commanding all the ghostly flames. Even the deep sea in the spirit world seemed to be intimidated by his authority, and a crack opened behind him.
Lawrence closed his eyes resignedly--he knew he was now a part of the Lost Home, and the nightmare-like captain needed some sacrifices to satisfy his endless emptiness and loneliness.
But the next second, he forced himself to open his eyes with courage. He felt that all the courage and madness of his life seemed to converge in these few seconds. He recalled the knowledge he had gained from books and legends, and looked at the terrifying captain standing on the Lost Home with as honest and calm an attitude as possible.
"You don't need to take everyone away. Take me and spare my crew," he said.
However, the towering figure did not respond. He simply cast a cold glance over, his eyes seemingly curious - as if wondering why a mere mortal captain dared to negotiate with him.
Finally, Lawrence could no longer restrain himself and let out a roar, "They all have families!"
The figure on the Lost Souls remained motionless until he looked in Lawrence's direction. He seemed to say something, but a loud whistle interrupted them. Amid the howling winds, Lawrence could only hear some commotion, but he couldn't make out a single word.
The response from the Lost Souls dissipated in the roar of the waves - "What did you say?! I can't hear you over the wind!"
The next second, a huge cacophony exploded in Lawrence's ears, mixed with the sounds of the wind, waves, and sailors shouting outside. From the corner of his eye, he saw a green flame quickly disappear, and the last remnant illusion of the Lost Souls dissipated into the air like mist.
Lawrence gasped for air, and then noticed that his hands, which had been burned to ash by the green flames, had somehow returned to their original state. Even the other crew members in the cockpit had transformed back into flesh and blood. The devout priest was panting heavily beside the altar, constantly reciting the name of the storm goddess Gomona, while the murky purple-black smoke in the incense burner gradually dissipated, replaced by pure white smoke rising from the copper hood.
It took Lawrence a while to catch his breath. He looked around in disbelief, as if he couldn't believe that the nightmare had just ended. It wasn't until the first mate's voice came from beside him, "Captain! The ship - Lost Souls - has left!" that he regained his senses.
Lawrence was a bit dazed, taking a few seconds to mutter to himself, "...He let us go?"
The first mate didn't hear him clearly at first. "Captain? What did you say?"
"That Captain Duncan..." Lawrence murmured absent-mindedly, as if he had accidentally mentioned a forbidden word and gave himself a slap. Suddenly, he raised his head and looked at the first mate, "Call the roll, everyone! Quickly, see if anyone is missing!"
The first mate immediately nodded and followed the order, but as he was about to leave, Lawrence stopped him again, "Also, see if there is anyone extra on board!"
The first mate was momentarily stunned, but quickly reacted. His eyes showed a hint of fear and suspicion. He took a deep breath, whispered the name of the storm goddess, and quickly ran to the deck outside.
The White Oak, still sailing in the spirit world, rang the gathering bell like a death knell.